


Life's Chapters

by littletechiebird



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was annoying, he was irritating, and he just didn’t shut up. These were little seven year old Timothy Drake’s first impression of his new classmate, Conner Kent, who was also turning out to be his new best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New

He found him to be such an annoying kid. No matter what, he never seemed to shut up. He didn’t seem capable. He was always asking questions, but even when you answered or explained it to him, you were left wondering if he understood.

This was the perception of a little boy named Conner Kent. A little boy that had bright blue eyes that always seemed to have come from the brightest blue sky. He was often attached to his Grandmother’s side. The name that he was always calling after her with was “Ma” though that was how all had come to know Martha Kent. This was the person that always seemed to take him to and from school. During the rare and quiet moments, some would whisper a question about the mother or the father. No one really knew, and the Kents were never asked directly. It was the small-town understanding of keeping your nose out of business that didn’t involve you. 

But the whispered questions? The wondering eyes and faces?

He knew how that was.

The one who had formed this perception of the aforementioned little boy was another little one just his age - Timothy Drake. He had transferred to the small-town school after his parents had chosen to send him off. They had said that a change of scenery would do Tim some good. There had been some concern expressed at his old school that he was far too introverted and quiet. That it couldn’t be good for his development. But there couldn’t be too much concern expressed when you got down to it. After all, his advancements and tested scores for such an age level were already remarkably high. But it wasn’t with his development of his intelligence that the concern resided with. It had already been proven that he was gifted. Even so, it all did not come to him with just a mere gift. Even at this young age, he had already somehow resigned himself to a strong work ethic. It baffled most adults - his intelligence that was. Not only that, but his maturity far exceeded what was expected of a seven year old.

No one knew whether to be worried or impressed. Most opted for a mixture of the two - though remaining silent when it came to the worry. The Drakes were a quiet family when it came to their business, but made enough flash when it came to sociality but here in this small town, no one knew anything. No one had met them. All that was known that this little boy’s parents had bought out a house just outside of town, and no one knew how long they planned to stay. They didn’t seem like the country type, though no one was planning to make them leave. That just wasn’t how their little town worked. All were welcome.

But this little boy with stormy blue eyes and raven black hair had formed this perception of little Conner Kent because he always had to form some kind of understanding of people before he could figure out how to proceed from there. But more than that, it was just too hard to understand Conner otherwise. After all, what other kind of person would just come up to someone and try to start talking their ear off? Conner didn’t give him a moment of peace. Yet, beyond his confusion and the formation of his seemingly negative opinion of Conner, no one ever heard Tim complain.

The little boy just remained quiet, watching Conner as he went on, or his eyes - and maybe his attention - would seem to be somewhere else, all while Conner talked. At times, once Conner reached a stopping point, or seemed to wait for Tim’s input, the other would finally speak up with a quiet answer or remark. Others, he would just remain as silent as he had been before. Anyone watching might have thought that Conner had gone unheard or was ignored.  But likely, it was that Tim was speechless, or was left contemplating what he had just heard. Conner had come to understand this, and seemingly of Tim himself, if only after some confusion and even discouragement. But it hadn’t taken too long. Only a couple days - but it was obvious he had not allowed himself to give up. They were quite a pair: the optimistic little chatterbox, and the stoic little realist. But after just several days from Tim’s start at the school, it was clear that they were inseparable.

It was only second grade, but with how seriously Tim focused on everything they did, you would swear he was already in high school preparing for his best opportunities in college. More than that, nothing seemed to be a challenge for him. Each new chapter in cursive that they practiced, it was like he had written each letter several times before. For their multiplication lessons, he was never tripped up. His little arm always shot up in the air as soon as their teacher, Mrs. Williams, finished writing it up on the board. Or when they were given their quizzes, he was always done before the last child was given their test. The kid was a human calculator. No matter what subject they studied, the only time he ever seemed to have a puzzled face was when he inquired to the teacher about further detail on the subject to confirm that what he thought he’d known, however he had come to learn about it, was in fact correct. Other than that, Conner occasionally was the one who was privileged to making that expression appear on the boy’s face. He felt accomplished when he was able to make Tim encounter a point that he had never approached before. Tim would actually seem grateful on most occasions, in his own way.  He never actually said so out loud, but Conner could tell. It was a part of achieving the understanding of the boy that had quickly become his best friend.

Math was the last subject that they studied before it was lunchtime. So as Tim closed the book that had taken up his time while everyone else was finishing their quizzes, he put it in his backpack that sat beside his desk, and took out his notebook in stead. Everyone lined up at the door, ready to be lead by Mrs. Williams to lunch. As usual, by habit that he had developed for whatever reason, Tim took a little longer grabbing his lunchbox and took his place at the back of the line. Conner had developed a habit of following suit. “How do you  _do_  that?” 

Tim just knitted his eyebrows together as one raised in question. “Do what?”

“You always get done so fast with those quizzes! Not just math, but especially math.”

The shorter boy shrugged. “I dunno. I guess they just aren’t that bad.”  


“But we just got out of learning multiplication by fives and tens. But how do you figure out the twos and threes? You’re  _too good_ at this, man!”  
  
A small, discreet, little smirk settled onto his lips as he clutched his notebook to his chest while they walked. “It isn’t that bad, Conner. I could help you with it, I guess.”

There was a moment where Conner seemed to be stricken, and there was definitely confusion on his face. “..Really?”

Tim tilted his head to the side, a fraction of Conner’s confusion showing up on his own features. “Well.. yeah. I mean, if you want me to.”

Confusion on Conner’s features quickly faded away into the brightest grin that clearly displayed his excitement. “Cool! You can come over and help me then, okay? And I bet Ma would make us cookies! Maybe you could come over tonight. I just got a new game that we could play after we’re done, too!”

With all of the planning, Tim was taken aback. He was already getting so into it.. so excited. “Uh..”

“It’ll be great!

No matter how unexpected that reaction was, and how much he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t help the small, unsure smile of his. “Okay.”

“And its  _Kon_.”

They went to lunch, and settled at the same table that Tim had found himself comfortable at over the last several days. It was one where had sat at by himself, and where Kon had first come up to start their very first, and very long conversation. It had been mostly of questions like “What’s your name?”, and “Why are you sitting by yourself?”, followed by “This is your first day here, right?”, as well as introductions, “I’m Conner!” It hadn’t been something that Tim had expected, or wanted in all honesty (he hadn’t thought so, anyway), but he’d gotten it regardless. And well, the questions hadn’t really stopped since then. 

As they sat down at what was now their table, Tim opened his lunchbox, as did Conner, and each pulled out their preferred starter. Tim grabbed his carrots, while Conner went for his ham and cheddar cheese sandwich. “Why are you studying? Its lunchtime!” 

Tim did not look up from his task of reading his notes while he munched on his carrots. “I wanted to refresh myself on the stuff we’re getting quizzed on in science.”

Kon could have dropped his sandwich. 

“Conner.. You forgot?”  
  
“Okay, one, it’s Kon! I keep telling you to call me that, Tim.” After all, Tim had earned that special privilege, evidently. And Kon was having a hard time convincing him of that. “Second, since  _when?!”_  

“Mrs. Williams told us about it yesterday before we left, when we were getting out of Mrs. Paige’s class.”

“Are you kidding?!”  
  
“As soon as that bell rings, you don’t hear a thing, do you?”

Conner began to sniff a bit, obviously getting upset by the news. He’d been getting more serious about his work. He was pretty sure it was because of his Ma and Pa. He always worked hard to make them proud. Tim blinked and simply sighed. “I’ll help you study right now if you just stay in from recess, okay?”

Tim expected a fight on the matter, or Kon attempting some kind of compromise, but in stead the other boy’s expression turned serious and determined as he nodded.

“Alright, so a plant’s way of eating is through this process called photosynthesis and that uses the sun…”


	2. Experience

It had been after he had completed his own test that he looked over to Kon’s desk across the room, trying to gauge how well the boy was doing. He had his brows furrowed together, a little glimpse of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, all while he stared so intently at his paper. His pencil was scribbling across the page every now and again, though it worried Tim how much of the time it  _wasn’t_ moving. He just hoped their last minute studying had been enough to earn Conner at least a half decent grade, if not better.

There were only two more classes after their quiz for them to sit through. Tim was in no hurry. He sat patiently in his seat, scribbling down the notes that were put up on the board, and writing from his open textbook while the teacher took time to explain further and answer questions. He asked none of his own that day. He was working diligently. Every now and again he glanced up and met his teacher’s gaze. She looked to him with a smile that had a bit of something else in it. Even the small boy who was filled with so much intelligence was not sure what to identify it as, but he had seen it before, and each time, he was sure that he did not like it.

Their last class had a change of plans. Before all of them had sat down, they were called to line up at the door. Confused looks were exchanged before their teacher simply smiled, looking to them all. “So who would like an extra recess for the day?” At that point, the kids were practically scrambling to get to the door. “Grab your backpacks too, everyone. We’ll dismiss from the playground.” There was something akin to a stampede when they all rushed to their hooks on the wall that held their backpacks, though Tim’s remained beside his desk. He slung it over his shoulder and stood waiting, not really wanting to get trampled by his classmates. The line came together, albeit a bit messily, and their group was led outside. They weren’t the only class that seemed to get the lucky break. The teachers were probably trying to be nice and allow them to play in the nice weather before it got too cold. 

The children dispersed as soon as they reached the playground, running off to their respective favorite posts. Meanwhile, Tim just walked to the bench at the edge of the playground and sat down, resting his backpack beside him. He pulled the zipper open and pulled his book out. Crossing his legs “indian style”, he took to reading once more. Conner, who had been getting ready to start a game of tag with another group of kids looked over to the bench and paused, frowning. He was obviously bothered by Tim’s lack of interest in their extra round of recess. 

“Be right back.” He told them. “Go ahead and start without me.”

So he went to stand in front of Tim who practically had his nose buried into his book. “What?” He asked without looking up.

“Why aren’t you playing?” 

The boy simply shrugged. He didn’t seem too interested in giving a real answer. “Why aren’t you? You gave up your recess earlier to study. You should be playing, like you were getting ready to with the others.”

Likewise, Conner shrugged. “I will.” And then there was a quick topic change. “What’re you reading?”

“ _Fahrenheit 451_.”

As soon as his response came, the other boy came to settle on the bench next to him, peering at the book.

“What’s it about?”

This time, Tim looked up, seeing Conner’s eyes trained upon his page. He was clearly trying to comprehend what was on the page. But then the blue eyes shifted up to look at him, curiosity not fading in the least. Tim was experiencing another dumbstruck moment as to why he cared about the book. He never seemed to express such interest. “..A dystopian American society in the future.”

Confusion was the clear response to Tim’s explanation.  
  
“What’s that?”  


“It’s just.. society, in the future, isn’t as… free, you know?” 

“Oh. Why?”

“Well, people aren’t allowed to read. Books were burned and taken away.. So if you read, you’re taken away too.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“That’s why it’s interesting.”

“So what happens?”

“I’m trying to find out.”

  
“Well what’s happening right now?”

Kon forgot about his game of tag. So the rest of their recess was spent exploring Tim’s advanced book of choice. They would read the pages together, and Tim would explain what Kon didn’t understand. They were so engrossed in the activity, the call from the teacher for them to line up almost went unheard. Parents had pulled into the parking lot just across the way and were waiting for their children. The bus was waiting in its usual spot parked outside the school building on the side of the road, flashers on to show it was still waiting for its young passengers.

Tim closed his  book and placed it inside of his backpack, zipping it closed before he slipped it back onto his shoulder and walked towards the bus. Conner had run off to grab his backpack as well, but was confused as he saw Tim walking off.   
  
“Tim!”

The boy paused, looking back to him.

“Wait. Weren’t you gonna come over tonight? I have that new game, remember?”

Actually, he had forgotten, and that was clear as he stood there for a few moments with a blank expression.   
  
“Oh.” Right. He had promised to help him study, too. That was when he had gone off on an excited tangent about his Ma’s cookies and his new game.

“Did you need to ask your Mom and Dad?”

“No. That’s okay. But you’d need to ask your Ma, right?”

“We can ask her together. Come on.”

So, changing course from the bus, Tim turned and walked after Kon as he ran off to the waiting blue truck, his Ma and Pa both sitting inside.   
  
“Ma! Pa!” He called with a grin. “Can I have a friend over? Please? He’s gonna help me with my homework!”

The elderly couple wasn’t surprised by the boy’s enthusiasm and while an amused expression played on Pa Kent’s features, Ma was offering a warm smile. “Of course, dear. What friend is that?”

Kon sidestepped to allow Tim to come into view.

“Hello, Ma’am.” He met her eyes for a moment before he ducked his head a bit.

“This is Tim!”

“Why hello there, Tim. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

He looked up then, caught off guard. “You.. did?”  
  
“Well of course. Conner just goes on and on about you..”

But this seemed to embarrass the boy a bit as his cheeks lit up and eyes widened in response to his guardian’s admittance. “Ma!”

  
“There’s nothing wrong with talking about your friends, Conner. Not when you do it as nicely as you have. Now come on, boys. Get into the truck. I have a pie in the oven at home and we don’t want that to burn!”

Both nodded and climbed into the smaller backseat that was practically hidden by the front seats. They were different, for they faced each other in stead of facing front. Tim supposed it was to conserve space. After all, there were very few trucks that had backseats at all.

“Tim, dear. Do you need to call your parents? Or maybe we could stop by your house if you need anything?”

“No ma’am. I’m alright.”  
  
“Boy, you should let your parents know where you’re gonna be. Don’t wanna give ‘em a scare.” Tim looked to Pa, who was looking at him in turn through the rearview mirror. 

“They’re out of town, sir.” The reply was kept as polite as ever. “They’re working on business..”

He didn’t miss the exchange of looks between Ma and Pa Kent, nor the look that was written on Conner’s face. Conner just didn’t understand how that could be, and his guardians were concerned. 

“Why don’t you tell me where you live, son. We’ll stop by and get some of your things.”

“I’m sure it’s lonely in that house of yours, dear. And I know Conner would love to have a friend stay a night or two. Besides, you’re a growing boy and need a good meal! So I’ll take care of that while your parents are out.”

These people were something else.

There was no arguing, for he could see this look in both sets of eyes that was warm, but stern and firm, in their own ways. So he just nodded and looked back to Conner who looked like Christmas had come early. “This’ll be great!” Though he was a little uncomfortable at this new idea, he kind of believed him. There was a bit of a thrill that came at the idea of getting to stay with his friend. He didn’t completely mind this.. and right now, he didn’t think about whether his parents would be displeased with him for it.

After guiding Pa Kent to his home, he ran off to get his things. It took about ten minutes before he came back out with his duffel and his backpack that seemed fuller than it had before. He’d only grabbed his essentials, and the things that Ma had told him to grab, but it felt like a lot. It kind of was, since he was told he’d be staying with them for the four days until his parents returned. He hadn’t mentioned how their trips sometimes ran a bit longer, but he hadn’t needed to. Ma had just said, “If they take a little longer, that’s okay. I’ll wash your clothes for you and you’ll just stay however long you need, dear.” It seemed like they had really worried about the idea of leaving him home alone. 

Tim supposed that he understood. But he was seven, after all. And he was a very capable seven year old at that! Yet, he still didn’t like using the stove or oven, admittedly. So most nights were microwavable foods or from a can or box. He didn’t mind, though.

Or, he hadn’t known better. For when the small family, Tim included for the time being, sat down to dinner, Tim’s eyes couldn’t have gone wider. Looking at the hefty plate he was given, his senses were immediately overwhelmed by all of the wonderful scents wafting up from his plate. His mom cooked occasionally, but it had never been anything quite like this. Every single thing on his plate was homemade, and he supposed he’d never really thought about just what it took to make each thing from scratch. There was cheesy bacon potatoes with bits of the skin mixed in, green beans, home made fried chicken, rolls, and corn. There was not an empty spot on his plate.

As if understanding his awe at the plate before him, Ma was just offering that warm smile to him again.

“Don’t forget to save room for dessert, Tim.”

…Dessert? There was supposed to be room for dessert too?

“Yes ma’am.”


	3. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing -- The heart of a child. The stories and logic they can create to make sense in their own heads to make something okay, or make it more understandable. The way the heart can hope. The way a heart can heal, even if only to foolishly trust again. But in truth, it's the mind that learns while the heart continues to hope and believe. Nine year old Timothy Drake knew this well, because his mind had learned and clung to logic, but his heart continued to hope with childish wonder.

It was something he found himself starting to get used to. That “something” being what it felt like to have a family around, or have one at all. It had become somewhat of a pattern over the last two years.

His parents would go out of town, on business of course, and Conner would suddenly be on his doorstep waiting to walk him back down the dirt road to the farm that had become like a second home to him. The Kents welcomed him with open arms.

Sitting on the porch of the Kent farmhouse, he held a postcard in his small hands. The message that was written on the back had been written in clear haste. It was what he was used to seeing. He’d come to easily realize he was lucky to get written at all.

It read:

“ _Dear Tim,_

_We’re island hopping for a couple of weeks._

_Business._

_Will call when we get back next week._

_Love,_

_Mom and Dad_

_PS_

_Or the week after._ ”

That message summed them up pretty well — his parents, that was. It was nothing that he wasn’t used to. Besides, the Kents helped quite a bit. He wasn’t alone in that big house anymore, trying to take care of himself. Not only that, but people asked so many fewer questions now, and he wasn’t getting those looks anymore that told him others viewed him as an abandoned child. He wasn’t getting that sense of pity from anyone. At this point, as he had learned from overhearing others several times, he was practically considered to be a Kent.

In a way, that made him feel a bit nervous. In another, he felt a great surge of pride. After all, it hadn’t been long from the start of his friendship with Conner that he’d come to understand just how well loved the Kents were by everyone who knew them — even Conner’s older brother, Clark. Tim had come to learn that he was a journalist in Metropolis. The Kents kept every column, carefully clipped from the paper, that he had ever written and published. Th pride and excitement in their eyes never waned.

Tim had never seen that before. 

Maybe that was why once he had started staying regularly with the Kents and they had asked how he did on his spelling tests — like they did with Conner — he had stared at them with complete and utter confusion before he’d managed a reply. He had still been glazed and confused as they expressed their congratulations and encouragement.

Or the time they converted the guest room into  _his_  room. That felt like too much. They had changed a part of their home for him, given a part of their home  _to_  him, including him on a whole new level.

Or the time they had thrown him a small family birthday party. He hadn’t known how to react at all when he saw the dinner table covered with the home cooked favorites of his that he had become spoiled with. He never outwardly called on his favorites, but it was no surprise that Ma Kent had a way of knowing.

That woman knew everything.

It hadn’t made any kind of sense to him. None of it. Those were things he had dreamed about with his parents, but never experienced for himself. But he’d told himself that it was fine because they were busy, working hard to provide for him and make him comfortable. 

But with the Kents.. They worked hard too. The thing was… He wasn’t  _their_  child. So how could he matter so much to them? 

He was just the neighbor kid.

“Tim?”

Raising his head, he looked over his shoulder from his spot on the steps of the porch to see Conner poking his head out of the door to look at him with a curious expression that managed to be laced with concern. 

“Ma said to come in. She says we’ll be eating as soon as Pa comes in from the fields and that we need to wash up.”

“Alright.” Pushing himself up to stand, he shoved the postcard into his pocket. As Tim approached, Conner backed away but held the door open as he approached. Stepping inside, both boys walked towards the kitchen to wash their hands and settle in at the table.

“What was that?”

A question he’d expected. 

“What was what?” He’d decided to play dumb anyway. 

“Whatever you’d been looking at.”

“I wasn’t looking at anything.” He denied.

“The thing you put in your pocket before you came in!” The boy pressed, glaring with a light sense of frustration at his friend. He was ready to snatch it from Tim’s pocket himself if he needed to, despite the many conversations they’d had about “personal space”.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

An automatic response he’d given several dozen times over the last two years, so it was obvious that Conner would continue to press. Nonetheless, it was the response he had chosen.

“Something from your Mom and Dad?”

Kon had learned quite a bit over those two years.

This time, Tim mutely nodded in place of an attempt at denial or avoidance as he turned on the faucet and began to wash his hands. 

“They gonna be home in time?”

Tim shrugged. He had been holding onto the postcard for a week at this point, and had just been trying to keep it from notice and attention. 

He had one week until his tenth birthday. He’d been fool enough to believe that with the timeline his parents had previously given him that this year they would be there. That they’d be home for his birthday. He wouldn’t get his hopes up far enough that they would actually remember it, but he’d decided that it would be enough to have them home. 

He’d already assured Ma Kent dozens of times that she wouldn’t need to worry about his birthday this year. His parents would be home and he’d just spend it there. 

_“Okay, dear.”_  She’d say.  _“You’ll have to let us celebrate it with you later, then.”_

He knew she didn’t mean for it to be so readable, or at all evident, but he could hear the disbelief in her voice, or the placation. He didn’t blame her for it, not for a moment, especially since he knew it was highly likely that she was right once again.

It wasn’t the first time he had said this, after all.

But he hated that she was likely to be proven right.

Just this once, he wanted them both to be wrong.

“Maybe. Who knows.”

Conner nudged him out of the way to start washing his own hands while Tim dried his own on the towel by the sink.

“They’ll make it. But you know, if they don’t, or whatever, Ma ‘n Pa will make you another awesome dinner like last year and the year before!” He beamed. “And we’ll watch moves all day and stay up all night!” But then suddenly he was groaning and pouting. For what reason, Tim could almost never be sure until he spoke up. “You’re _so lucky_  your birthday is in the summer!”

“Yours is in the spring, you know.”

Conner rolled his eyes as if that was ridiculous to point out. “Yeah, and it  _always_ rains!” He took the towel that Tim handed to him before they both crossed the room and took their places at the table to patiently wait while  Ma Kent continued to tend to the food that they would soon be eating. 

Tim remained quiet, a bit too absent to be able to laugh at Conner’s attempts to distract him. It was easy enough for his friend to pick up on this.

“They’ll be home, Tim.” He assured.

The look in Conner’s eyes told him that he was hoping just as much, and just as hard, as he was for himself. Tim only nodded and looked down, little fingers fiddling with the tablecloth that dangled off the table, just above the top of his thighs while his feet swung back and forth.

“I know.”


	4. Last Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, he doesn’t have to want for much. His birthday wish is a simple thing, but he isn’t sure if it’s within the realm of possibility. But if they could just be home, just be within the same relative space, he would have all he could want.

Despite how many times he had told, and supposedly, convinced himself not to get his hopes up, Tim found himself counting down the days on his calendar. Tomorrow was the day. If he was lucky, maybe just this once, they would be home early.

He didn’t have his hopes up at all, not even a little.

It certainly wasn’t why he was clutching his book with a death grip while only pretending to read as his foot impatiently tapped against the floor in a varying rhythm as quietly as he could manage. He didn’t think he was even making a noise, or so he hoped.

But no matter what he thought, Conner always heard somehow.

“Tim, c’mon. If you’re not even reading anyway, why won’t you at least play with me?” THe other boy called to him from the other side of the room where he was nestled on the couch. 

“I am reading.” He insisted.

“No, you’re not. If you were, you would have ignored me.”

...Point made.

It was almost annoying to realize how much Kon had picked up on and learned about him. He wondered if he knew half of these types of things about Conner in turn. 

“C’mon!” He coaxed again.

Looking up from his book, he glanced at Conner for a moment, and then shifted his eyes to the window. He looked down the dirt road, all the way down to where his house stood. He didn’t see his parents’ car yet, so... He supposed that he could play for a bit. He would just have to keep a close eye to ensure he didn’t miss their return. 

Because he had a feeling. 

They’d be home. He wasn’t wrong this time. They’d come home and he would finally get to at least share the house with his parents on his birthday. He was absolutely sure of this. That would be enough this time around.

“Alright.” Tim agreed.”Just for a little bit. I’m sure they’re going to be home soon but... it should be okay. For a little bit.” He said it without further thought as he put his book off to the side and crossed the room to snag a controller and sit beside his friend.”

“Right. Just for a little bit!” Kon parroted happily, changing the settings of the game to be set for two.

But as it often seems to with children, time soon got away from them both. The sun that had been so high in the sky was fast approaching the horizon to hide away from sight. The colors that had painted the sky made the fields stand out and provide some color to the pale landscape. But that faded too, and soon it was simply dark.

“You’ve _got_ to be _cheating_!”

This was the cry of clear exasperation that came as one boy threw his hands into the air, still clutching his controller in one. The other was comfortably smug in his secured position of “winner”. 

“You never even play! And you won on your first try!” 

The complaint continued in the face of Tim’s confident smirk and perhaps he was even allowing himself a bit of indulgence in arrogance in that moment. 

“It’s not _that_ hard.” He began, speaking lightly as he shrugged a shoulder. “If you just pay attention to the combos and don’t just button--” Cutting off abruptly, the blissful feeling died away when he saw the sun had set. 

How long had it been since he last checked?

Scrambling up from his place, he darted to the window to look down the road towards his home once again. As soon as his eyes landed on the structure, his heart practically soared. Two headlights whipped into a spot in front of his house.

He took no time to grab, or even think of, anything he might need. All he could manage was to dart to the door and paused to poke his head back inside as he was already halfway out. “I’ll call later!” He promised and took off again. He hadn’t noticed that Conner followed him to the door and watched him run down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. 

All Tim knew was that he had been _right_. HIs parents were home and he’d have them around for his birthday. He expected they would be busy, but that was fine. Having them there was all he had wanted. It was the best thing he could ask for or receive.

For it would be enough to listen to the hum of their voices on the phone as they took their business calls, even though he knew most of those calls meant they would just be planning to leave again. He could go to bed listening to the sound of his father’s footsteps moving back and forth in his study as he planned and studied and conferenced with his business partners. He could listen to the sound of his mother’s shuffling papers and quick, precise typing. 

He would have the lullaby he had been missing.


	5. Piece it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instincts are there for a reason. They are what make you fight for survival, to protect yourself and those you can’t live without. Through our lives, we learn just what they mean when they yell for us to listen. We learn to interpret that unspoken warning. He would come to wish this was something he had been tested in before, or had been able to excel at. Because this… This was something he never would have dreamed of, even in his nightmares.

Tim was a bright boy. Lots of people had come to know that and had come to remind him of it rather frequently. Sometimes the word “brilliant” was even thrown in. He think he’d been called “boy wonder” once. Many wouldn’t, and didn’t, pick up on their own reference. It made Tim grin on the inside and the compliment had found a way to multiply tenfold. 

Despite this supposed fact, and all the opportunities he’d been given, Tim had not turned back when he should have.

First had been the car. 

He’d noticed it, back at the Kents’ place. That the headlights he had seen pull up to his home hadn’t been quite the right shape. But no, maybe his mother and his father had gotten a new car while they had been gone. Maybe it was a rental.

This was the same excuse he tried to use for himself as he’d arrived at hte end of his driveway and saw the two vehicles, one being unfamiliar to him. 

But then there was the fact that the house seem to remain dark.

No, no. Maybe, no, surely they were just going to surprise him! Or... maybe they’d gone to bed. It had been a long trip, after all. He could have understood that. The worked hard! 

Tim found himself pausing as he stood in front of the door to house and noticed the splintered frame, though the door was now closed.

Perhaps they had just... forgotten or misplaced their keys.

He was stretching it. In fact, he wasn’t even sure that counted as a stretch on some level because he knew how ridiculous it sounded. How ridiculous he was being. 

But he kept going.

Something foolish in him pushed him on.

It seemed, also, that it could be very well just as foolish of him that his mind strayed nad began to play various and countless nights that, for as long as he could remember, he had sat down to watch the night’s feature of the events and adventures of none other than Batman and Robin. From the time Batman had taken on his first partner, to his newest, the second, but lesser in no way, Robin. 

Yes, he’d noticed. Of course he had, but he wasn’t the only one. Everyone had. The difference between the first Boy Wonder who had started to become a man, to the new Boy Wonder who face the fight with a whole new force to be reckoned with, and a bit of a smaller frame -- but not by much, and surely not for long.

They were _amazing..._ and he envied them. Greatly.

He envied them because he wasn’t the child who wanted fairytales. That, _they_ , were as close to “magic” as the world would and could ever get. He didn’t believe in magic but he believed in them. 

Somehow, someone so “ordinary”, even though he truly believed for them to be anything but, had done something so extraordinary and touched so many lives every day. They were the best to believe in, and it had to be... Well, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to be a part of that.

This did not stop a little voice in his mind that had wished that he could be like them -- the Robins -- and face whatever was ahead.  No matter how foolish he’d been at the start of this, he couldn’t deny the way his instincts had begun to scream. 

But his senses seemed to be deaf, or possibly defiant, as it was not courage that drove him further forward into whatever this was that he was getting himself into.

His thoughts were disrupted by the shot that rang out, and his body froze just the same. 

“I said, sit _down_.”

There was the clear scuffing sound as someone was shoved back into one of the kitchen’s wooden chairs, against the hardwood floor. He knew the sound. He had been scolded many times before when his mother’s ears had caught the noise when he had not taken care to sit down at the table properly and had chosen to flop down roughly. She hated the sound, and the scratches that would appear on the floor.

“Your work isn’t done.”

Where were his parents?

It so happened that he had snuck inside unnoticed, and hid behind the staircase that led up to the bedrooms and his parents’ offices on the second level. It was the last obstacle before the open concept of the wide area that encompassed the dining area, living room, and kitchen. He pressed himself up against the cool painted wall, peering around the corner to try and get a look of what was going on, and to whom those voices belonged.

“It is. We’re done. No more.”

There! That was his father! He sounded so... angry. What was going on? Who were these people? He couldn’t tell how many there were...

“I don’t think so. Your job is only half done, Drake. You didn’t deliver the information.”

A scoff. “We don’t have anything to share.”

And his mother! Her voice...

“Oh? You wanna play it that way?”

Tim shivered. His hands balled into fists against the wall. Everything in him still pressed, still yelled for him to hide, to go back to the Kents’ and play video games with Conner as if he had never left. He could tell Ma and Pa and let them take care of this. Let them call for help.

Because he knew.

He knew he couldn’t help.

But someone had to.

This wasn’t going to be okay. It wasn’t going to end well if they didn’t.

His senses were on fire. 

But Tim edged forward, stopping only when he was able to see his parents. He could make them out somewhat, seeing that they were sitting with their hands bound behind them. The lights were off, except for the dim stove light on the other end of the kitchen. His parents’ luggage was on the floor with the previous contents strewn all over the living room and parts of the kitchen. 

From the faint lighting, he couldn’t completely tell, but he finally was starting to understand the strange tones in their voices. There were dark marks that littered his parents’ clothes and skin, not to mention... their clothes seemed to be torn... 

His mother’s dress looked like it had once been lighter, and perhaps it had once had a pattern, but now it just seemed so dark from the waist, down. One of her sleeves were gone and her hair was rather messy. Her shoes were gone, her cheeks seemed wet. 

Her voice before had sounded so tired and shaken. She always told Tim to speak as clearly as she did, and her voice always sounded so strong.

This was something that he had never seen, nor heard, when it came to her. Right now she was... wavering. 

His father’s tie was gone. His collar was anything but straight. The shirt was stained and torn, like his pants. One foot was completely bare, the other still had a dark sock, though a toe was poking out.  

His father was a strong man, but he had never heard the anger, the guilt, the shame that hung so heavily in his tone now. It was enough to instill a kind of fear in himself of his father, even though he was not on the receiving end of the unspoken threat. 

“We could go for round two to help change your mind...” 

Tim could hear the sick amusement in the man’s voice.  

He didn’t like it, even if he couldn’t bring himself to understand. He understood enough in the way his father jerked to respond, and the way his mother tensed and froze. 

“ _Don’t you touch her_.” 

There was the glint of one man’s teeth as he grinned at Tim’s father. 

“Don’t you mean _again_?” 

Another man stepped up next to the first and a bit more into the little light that was available. 

“Then if you don’t want that, Jack, I’d get talking.” 

There was a long period of silence. Then the second man spoke up again, raising a dark, metallic object. It was small and it didn’t shine much in the limited light, but it was pointed at his father. 

“Or do I need to talk a little louder, first?”


	6. No Exaggeration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrenaline, more formally known as epinephrine, is simply a hormone and neurotransmitter. It’s critical in the fight or flight response, and can be quite amazing, if not baffling, in the many functions it has within the body. But right then, he didn’t know which he should be, or would be doing. Perhaps he had lost his opportunity for the option of “flight", but Tim didn’t think he’d survive a fight if it came down to that.

He couldn’t understand.

Tim honestly could not find the capacity to understand this moment and how it was unfolding in front of him. His parents had moved here, to Smallville, for many reasons. But one of them had been their insistence that Gotham was a dangerous place and was unfit to raise a child. That if they were here, or he was at the very least, they would be safer. 

So how was it that in this safe place, he saw a gun pointed at his father, inches from his forehead?

Click.

The gun was ready to fire, and he didn’t see a bit of fear on his father’s face. Only defiance showed through. He had no intention of giving in. His mother’s eyes were locked on his father, and he wondered -- why wasn’t she saying anything? She was scared too, just as much as he was. That he understood. But he-- He wanted to scream to his father, to get them to stop, to have him tell them whatever they wanted so badly, just so that they would stop and leave. If he did that, if they left, then all of this could be over!

...But it never worked out like that in the movies. Not even in books.

“One last chance, Drake.”

The voice sounded like gravel in a blender, at least to Tim. It was rough, angry, and cold. 

“I told you. I have nothing to share.”

“...So be it.”

Tim watched the man set his shoulder and his hand began to tense... and squeeze...

“Dad!”

His voice broke into the air where silence had so briefly reigned and announced his presence clearly.

_Bang._

His body was on fire, adrenaline bursting through his veins and senses. His were wide and fixed on his parents. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel a thing as his blood ran cold in a would-be painful contrast. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from calling out, but the look of dread and fear on their faces told him he had been wrong to do so. They found themselves with a new wish -- that somehow they could have kept him from being there, or kept him silent. All the strength, all determination, all resolve was done from them now. He only saw fear grow in their eyes and on their faces to replace it, just as it had for himself only moments before.

“Timothy!”

“Tim, run!”

And though his parents’ voices stirred something in him for his body to respond, to listen, he felt himself stall as he watched the man who was unknown to him, turn back to his father and...

_Bang. Bang._

But those eyes turned back to him as his legs shook and fought a sweeping weakness that threatened to overtake him. 

“Get the kid.”

Two other men who had remained just out of his sight, tore after him.

“Timothy!” He heard the tears in his mother’s voice as she had screamed to him once more. HIs own tears had started to fall without a single sound and he bolted from the edge of the living room towards the stairs.

He knew. He knew it would have been better, safer, if he had run straight out that door. He knew he was only trapping and cornering himself this way. The likelihood of those thugs grabbing him, using him against his mother to get what they wanted, and then killing him, was actually close to an absolute certainty. 

But... he couldn’t leave her alone.

He didn’t know what he could possibly do, but he couldn’t leave his mother alone with these men.

And his father...

It was his hands and feet, together, that helped him to scramble up the stairs as quickly as he could. The loud, heavy footsteps of his pursuers thundered after him at a pace nearly as quick as his own. Tim could practically feel them at his heels.

Reaching the top of the staircase, he didn’t slow. He tripped over his feet in his haste and lurched forward towards the wall. Catching himself, his palms slammed against the cool surface, and his cheek grazed it.

A thought ghosted through his mind that his mother, on any other day, would have been unhappy with him. Surely he would be leaving handprints from his sweaty palms peeting the lightly painted walls...

Tim pushed off of the wall and shot down the hallway. His eyes were focused on the large wooden doors at the end of the space. As he met it, and then upon passing through the doorway, he turned on his heel. Again he caught himself slipping on the rug that covered most of the room’s hardwood flooring. He reached out to grasp the handle of the door, and this kept himself from falling any further. The door slammed shut and immediately, he went to lock it. His chest rose and fell quickly in alignment with his quickened heartbeat. His mind was planning ahead with more speed than his body could manage to act with.

His next plan of action was to grab the chair in front of his father’s desk and wedge it under the door handles. Little, wide, blue eyes frantically swept the room after he had completed that task and it was on to the next. He was searching. He was silently begging, pleading, praying to someone, or anyone, that something would jump out at  him as his saving grace and protector.

The closest he came to an answer to his prayers was his eyes falling upon his father’s gold plated letter opener.

Tim rushed to the desk to snatch it up, his fist closing tightly around the would-be weapon as he held it close.

The doors shook and quaked with the force of the men behind it. It was his last line of defense, aside from his hiding spot, before it would be his turn to be on the front lines and test himself for the offensive.

This was a test he didn’t want to take. He had every reason to believe he would fail.

Tim slipped behind a door and pulled it close, pressing his back to the wall and letting his head fall back as he shut his eyes tightly. His arms moved to remain at his side, his right hand holding tight to the letter opener for all it stood for -- his last chance.

The doors shook, rattled, and creaked under the assault they withstood. Again and again, he heard some kind of horrible pattern, just waiting for them to give way. 

But then.. it simply stopped.

He heard shouting, followed by shots.

He couldn’t make out a single thing they said, but the men shouting certainly sounded distressed and distracted. Logic told him that the fact his pursuers were feeling and expressing these things could, possibly, be good for his own interests.

If only he could be so lucky for that to happen. After all, that would have meant that the enemy of his enemy had arrived.

But really, what was the likelihood of that? There was no way anyone could know...

There were a few crashes and then...

Quiet.

It was as if all other sound had been washed from his home, leaving him alone with just his own breathing. Tim dared not to move and test the resilience of that silence. He pressed his lips together, curling them in bitting down. He wouldn’t move. He feared even allowing him the necessity of breathing. So he breathed as slowly as he could manage -- in and out though his nose. As he did, he felt the speedy rate of his heart begin to slow. With that, he felt his tense limbs begin to relax more and more... until he couldn’t feel much of anything at all. 

He noticed the weakness in his knees as his back slid down the wall until his backside met the floor with a soft “ _thump_ ”. Realizing he had made a sound brought panic to flood his mind, but this time no adrenaline accompanied it to give him even a bit of hope to move. His limbs were heavy and his side... _burned._ He began to plead again, to the invisible force he didn’t know: to keep him from being found, to make these men leave, and just let him call for help.

Footsteps.

Finally, just outside of his father’s study that he had barricaded himself within, he heard slow, steady, heavy footsteps. They paused, and Tim only assumed they had come to stand just outside of the door. 

He swore whomever he had been pleading with was laughing at him. 

All Tim could do was close his eyes and listen as he willed his hand to encircle the letter opener that had slipped from his grasp as he had come to settle upon the floor. As he stretched for it, he winced and bit back a cry once pain tore from his side and through his senses, much like it felt his skin was doing in that moment. 

Eyes that screwed shut even tighter, cracked open and peered down to the source of the splitting pain, at his side. His green t-shirt had a wide, dark stain. It looked black, but he knew better. The stain seemed to have reached his shorts as well. His left arm crossed his body, fingers running over the fabric of his shirt. The darkened fabric tainted the tips of his fingers with vibrant crimson until they paused at the hole he soon took notice of. 

That hadn’t... Oh.

Thinking back, he supposed it had made sense. His adrenaline had taken over his system so completely that he hadn’t even realized. Or maybe it had been shock. But that had to have been what happened when that man saw him. He’d been so sure he’d missed. That he’d only lost his footing a little because he’d been scared and his parents had been yelling...

He’d read about it before but he had figured that when hit, the victims had to feel something. He hadn’t believed that the body really could override the senses like that.

Tim paused in his revelation and thoughts. He could hear a voice behind the door. It was gruff, it was low, but it was nothing like the man who had invaded his home to hurt his family. But why was there someone else? Was this his enemy’s enemy? A friend?

“I had this handled.”

..Maybe it was. So who was this guy?

“What do you mean _“he_ ” called you?”

Oh, he was tired... He couldn’t keep his eyes open. But he had to. This wasn’t over. They weren’t necessarily safe.

“A boy?”

Was he on the phone? But he was talking to the person like they were there too. Another part of the house, maybe? 

More than one.

Not good.

What was going on? What had his parents gotten into?

“Critical?” Pause. “Right. Go ahead.”

Tim didn’t feel any better as the conversation on, nor as it reached an end. He didn’t know whether that would prove to be an improvement or not. These people knew he was here. So did that mean that just one was confident enough to take him out? No... of course they were. He was a kid, and they probably knew he’d been hit and that made him even less of a threat -- if he’d even been one to begin with. 

His hand shook as he held his “weapon” so tightly until his knuckles were as white as the bone beneath the skin.

_‘Just be a dumb grunt_.’ He begged, already assuming the worst. _‘I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.’_

It was like those games Conner played and pulled him into. The hero would advance, take down the grunts, and move on to take on and defeat the boss in battle. It was the only way to save the world.

But he wasn’t a hero.

This wasn’t a game.

He’d never survive the boss battle, if he even found his way there.

There were small clatters, then two crashes that nearly sounded as one. Tim’s body tensed and he sharply sucked in a breath.

Don’t move.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t even think.

...He was sure they would hear it.

His small hand remained tightly wrapped around the letter opener, even as it continued to shake. His mind ran a million miles a second, even though he had no idea of who was coming, or what he could do.

Tim listened close, hearing the slow, steady, cautious steps begin again. Despite the caution, there was no hesitation. They were confident.

Then there was a pause in the advance. ...But why? Were they looking for him? Did they see him?

No, no. He’d been quiet. THere was just no way they could know he was there, specifically. Could he really be so unlucky? He’d kept himself quiet and still, pressed into the corner, against the wall and behind the door to the closet that remained open. He had hoped it would be simply inconspicuous. 

Now his “opponent” was remaining just as silent and still. He wondered... What, or who, was he up against?

Breathing out through his nose, still as slowly as he could manage, he allowed himself a fresh breath to relieve his lungs. With that relief, he carefully began to lean to get a view of the intruder. His shoulders quaked with the strain that it put on his wound, but it had to be worth it. He knew he needed to tread lightly. He couldn’t afford to be seen or heard.

But what came into his view, or who, brought the letter opener to drop from his hands and clatter against the floor.

All he had left in that moment was that his eyes were not playing some kind of awful trick on him. After all, it would be a difference of his doom and his salvation -- at no exaggeration. 

Before him stood the man he had watched on TV countless times, and had seen appear in just as many stories he had clipped from the newspaper. And that man’s eyes, hidden by lenses within the cowl he wore, were on him. Logic told him the figure before him was merely a man, but his brain was completely unable to wrap around the idea. The air about him, and the strength he exuded, made him feel that was impossible. That, and he had appeared out of nowhere to put an end to this nightmare.

The Batman’s head had whipped around to him as soon as he had dropped the would-be weapon. There was no expression to be taken from his features, even as he began to approach. Even then, he seemed to move with both purpose, and caution. It made Tim wonder, perhaps Batman thought he would try to flee. Or maybe he was simply mistaking his awe, for fear.

Tim, of course, made no move at all.

Batman crouched in front of him, a gloved hand reaching out to move his own small hand form the place it had rested to cover his still-bleeding wound. His hand was firm, but strangely gentle. Tim didn’t focus his eyes on the hand that had touched him, nor his wound. In stead, his eyes never left The Batman’s face. They didn’t even want to blink.

After several moments of studying the wound, Batman allowed Tim’s hand to settle back over it. He watched Tim wince as his hand came back into contact with the area. Then he seemed to study Tim, in stead, for a few moments more. Had he expected him to cry out? Or was he looking for something else? 

Tim wanted nothing more than to understand this man’s thoughts.

The Batman’s attention was pulled away, hand rising as two fingers pressed against the side of his cowl where Tim believed his ear was. Soon, he began to speak. 

“I located the boy.”

A pause. Who was he speaking to this time? Was it the same person?

“He is alert.”

Was it Robin?

“You’ve cared for his mother?” Pause. “I can handle him.”

No, he wouldn’t leave him with that.

...Wait.

Just his mother?

Tim swallowed, and Batman’s hand lowered. He knew he had the man’s attention onec more. He wanted to ask about his parents but...

Pulled from the thought, arms had extended to him. Once more, he moved with care. This time it was to cause Tim as little pain as could be managed. He could feel the eyes trained on him, even if he couldn’t see them, and he believed he was ensuring he wasn’t causing unnecessary pain, and that Tim was still awake. Despite the way his eyes so wished to fall shut, he didn’t want to lose a moment of observing his hero. This was as close as he would ever get, and then it would never happen again.

He wished he could have had a similar experience under better circumstances. 

“Where’s Robin?” He couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t know whether or not he would receive a reply.

He didn’t.

“At home?” He tried again, pressing a bit further.

...Still nothing.

He asked not only due to his curiosity, but to try and keep himself awake. Even through leather, kevlar, and who knew what else that made up the bat-suit, he could still feel a calming, comforting warmth.

“So... who has my mom..?” He tried again after a few moments, voice dragging as he began to lose his battle.

“Superman?” He asked, and wasn’t surprised by the silence.

“Flash?” He had settled into Batman’s arms, and he was held steady as they walked, leaving the study.

“Wonder Woma--”

“Superman.” The low, rough voice was finally pushed to respond as he continued to guess. With that response, his eyes snapped wide and to full attention.

“Wow...” Both Superman and Batman? Who were those guys to get those two involved? “How did you know?”

“I had been tracking them.”

“Who were they?”

“They won’t show up again.” Tim frowned, eyes half closed. He didn’t want the question to be avoided, but he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Did you get them?”

“Some.” His voice grew rougher and heavier with dissatisfaction.

“And the others?”

“Will be handled.” That time, his voice was sharp. He knew that meant the matter was closed to further discussion. The Batman was frustrated and dissatisfied with the outcome. Tim knew he rarely “allowed” anyone to get by him. The times that did manage to come to pass, it was never for long. So he found it easy to trust in him when Batman said things would be “handled”. No doubt that before the week was over, there would be some kind of news story covering the capture of the men who were all responsible for tonight’s... events, and who knew what else.

...Well, Batman knew...

But since he was no longer pursuing that subject, he could return to one that he had not fully taken advantage of. His side was burning and his eyes were once again starting to droop as the conversation fell into a lull.

“So... Who called Superman?”

Tim would have sworn that he felt a missed beat in his hero’s strides. Or maybe his perception was just failing.

“You didn’t, right? You’d... said that “ _he_ ” did.” He had a right to be curious about this, and it made since he had overheard. No doubt Batman was wishing he hadn’t. Obviously, this had been Batman’s case, not one he had shared with Superman. And who could have known what was going on all the way out in this corner of Smallville? Out here, at least for several miles, there were just the Kents and himself... That was all, wasn’t it?

He should have known he would receive nothing but silence. All the same, he smiled, and his eyes had fallen shut somewhere along the way. “That’s a secret too, huh?”

Secrets. There seemed to be many in this conversation, but he had one of his own and it might have been the best. What would Batman think or say if he knew? He would leave himself wondering, after all, he didn’t believe this was the reasonable time to bring that up. Though, unless he got specific, Batman might just have ignored him completely. Maybe he would just take him for a kid that was running his mouth or telling a tall tale.

A rush of cool air alerted him to a change of environment, and before he could open his eyes, he felt himself be pulled from the warmth of Batman’s form and settled on a surprisingly warm seat. As he leaned against the leather, his eyes fluttered open, struggling to do so. He cursed his body for its weakness in the moment that he should have been excited and eager to explore his surroundings. After all, his current surroundings was that of the Bat plane. The illuminated buttons and screens brought a yearning for the desire to understand their function and purpose. He didn’t ask a single question in regards to that subject as Batman buckled into the seat next to him after he had done so for himself.

He felt so very helpless and frustrated for more reasons than he could list in that moment.

“We need to get you taken care of.” That was when Tim realized he hadn’t even worried about that, nor had he been scared. He wasn’t scared any longer over the fact that he had been shot, or how much blood he had lost. He knew he had been, but he didn’t feel the need for that panic as soon as he had known whose care he was in. It was irrational, possibly even ridiculous, to trust in a vigilante he so admired but didn’t know in the least (at least personally..) But it was also the truth.

Though he had no idea how much time had passed, he no longer trusted his perception, he only knew it had felt like quite a while. He wondered if in reality, it had been only a few minutes. But silence had definitely fallen for a time before he spoke up again. He wouldn’t ask a question of the man this time. He just wanted him to know one thing, even if he didn’t have much reason for it.

“You’re the reason I miss Gotham.”

His eyes fell shut.


End file.
